


A Night at the Masquerade

by Vamillepudding



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: M/M, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-12 17:16:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18451067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vamillepudding/pseuds/Vamillepudding
Summary: When Tommy and Alfie have a surprise meeting at a masquerade ball, both assume that it's part of a wicked plan. But what happens at the ball, stays at the ball, right?**Alfie has not yet recognised Tommy, which is an undeniable advantage of the masks. He might be here to disturb Tommy’s plan, or to execute one of his own, or maybe he’s here because he genuinely likes dressing up and attending balls. It could be either of these three things, but if it’s the latter, Tommy will genuinely kill someone.





	A Night at the Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HumanCoffeeBean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumanCoffeeBean/gifts).



Alfie fell in love the first time he saw Tommy, and he hasn’t fallen out of it since. That’s not the reason he’s here, not at all, but it’s just something he likes to think about every once in a while – just something to remind himself of, when he has just shot a bloke’s kneecaps out. It reminds him that he’s human. 

Sometimes, this thought even helps. Today, it falls short. 

He spotted Tommy within the first few minutes of his arrival at the ball. Hard not to, really. Tommy Shelby stands out in a crowd, even when he’s trying to blend in, even when he’s wearing a mask along with everyone else in the room. It’s to do with the way he walks, like he owns every bit of floor he stands on, like he dares to grace the others with his presence, like he’s bringing a gift and the gift is himself. Not true, necessarily, but that’s the way Tommy moves. Alfie is endlessly fascinated by it. 

Be that as it might, though, he still didn’t expect Tommy’s attendance. His people have screened the list of attendees, and he would remember seeing the name Tommy Shelby on it. 

Then again, the name Alfie Solomons isn’t on the list either, so he supposes two can play this game.  
The orchestra starts to play a new song. Alfie adjusts his mask, a grey feathery thing, and waves down a waiter to get one of these cocktails are the latest fashion in English noble houses everywhere, he’s been told. 

Across the room, someone asks Tommy to dance, and he accepts. Alfie pretends to sip his drink as he allows himself to watch, just for a couple seconds, the way Tommy and his partner move together on the dance floor. 

Maybe Alfie will dance a bit himself, bad back be damned. After all, what’s the fun of a masquerade ball without at least one waltz?

***

Alfie Solomons is at the party. This was not part of the plan. 

The plan was supposed to be very simple: Show up at Lady Merton’s glorified party, talk to some people in important places, leave before midnight, and find a bar where they serve proper booze, not these ridiculous drinks that look like they would be more in place at a child’s birthday party. 

It stands to reason that Alfie, who seems to have made it his mission in life to make Tommy’s own life harder, would throw a wrench into the works. 

At least he’s not yet recognised Tommy, which is an undeniable advantage of the masks. He might be here to disturb Tommy’s plan, or to execute one of his own, or maybe he’s here because he genuinely likes dressing up and attending balls. It could be either of these three things, but if it’s the latter, Tommy will genuinely kill someone. Probably Polly, who had this idea in the first place. It should have been Ada here, not Tommy – Polly’s original idea had been to find a treat to lure Ada back into the family business. This would have been just her thing. 

The flu, Tommy thinks darkly, should be banned, together with the way Alfie looks in black tie. Some things are just genuinely unfair, and this is one of them. 

He distracts himself by finding a pretty woman to dance with, a sport he’s always enjoyed – both finding pretty women and dancing. 

And maybe, if he lets himself get lost in following the rhythm for a little while, Alfie will have left once the music stops.

***

Tommy hasn’t spotted Alfie so far. Whether he’s even actively searching for Alfie is anyone’s guess, but Alfie has never been one to sit around waiting. He finds Lady Merton instead, kisses her hand and then her cheek, using a carefully calculated mix of English gentleman and Jewish gangster, exactly what drew her attention to him in the first place. 

They’re not fucking – she’s married and Alfie isn’t in the habit of screwing women, but none of this means that they can’t have a bit of fun, the sort of fun where Alfie gets invited over for tea every once in a while to entertain a few old duchesses and countesses, and they in turn get their husbands in the parliament to look the other way when Alfie expands his business. 

“I nearly didn’t recognise you, dear,” Lady Merton tells him. “These ghastly masks, I’ve not been able to talk to anyone I know all evening – but aren’t they such fun?”

"Such fun,” Alfie agrees. His eyes are on Tommy, who has just declined a second round with his dancing partner. He says, a bit absently, “excuse me for a minute,” and is halfway through the room, when he changes his mind. 

He leaves his cocktail, still full, with one of the footmen, and steps outside onto one of the balconies overlooking the gardens. The air is the kind of crisp only nights in early summer bring. Alfie breathes in deeply. His gun is tucked beneath his waistband; he’s got half a mind to fire a shot at the night sky. That would liven up the party, that would.

Except it would also bring down any further deal he might hope to strike with Lady Merton’s husband, and he’s long since past the age where he does things just for the fun of it. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” comes Tommy’s voice from behind him. Tommy joins him on the terrace, leans next to him on the wrought-iron railing, lights a cigarette. 

Empires have been brought to their knees by the way Tommy exhales the smoke, Alfie thinks. For a split second he wonders what would happen if he said this out loud. Nothing good is what, he knows, so instead he says, “life, now that is one thing that is full of surprises.” 

They are still wearing masks, which seems odd now that they are alone. Would seem odder to take them off, though. 

Tommy holds the cigarette in Alfie’s direction, a silent question. Alfie shakes his head. “Messes up your lungs, that shit.”

Tommy shrugs and takes another drag. They stand like this for a while, one of them smoking, both of them silent.

Finally, Tommy throws down the stub and straightens up. “You coming back in?”

“In a minute,” Alfie tells him. Tommy nods, once, and disappears back inside. 

Alfie will follow him – in a minute, like he said. For now, he stays where he is, and thinks of reminders.

***

Several months ago, Tommy walked into the office of one Mr Alfie Solomons. He’d made inquiries about this Solomons person, had heard stories and read reports and, after some careful considerations, chose to get his attention. 

When he met the man, he’d thought it couldn’t be true. Everyone had told him Alfie Solomons was crazy and a genius, Tommy could only attest to one of these things. He’d trusted his instincts on this one, and dismissed the man. 

A mistake he won’t repeat. Not ever. 

He leaves Alfie on the balcony. He considers getting himself another drink, then decides against it. He dances again, first with a man, then with a woman, then a man again. 

During the third dance, Alfie returns. He taps the shoulder of Tommy’s partner, neatly inserting himself between the swaying couples around them. “Hope you don’t mind me interrupting,” he says conversationally to the man – Tommy was introduced to him, but can’t remember his name now – and, when the bloke doesn’t go away immediately, just stares at him until he does leave. 

The song is still ongoing. Alfie bows to Tommy, a mock-imitation of the proper procedure.  
Tommy, after a second, puts his hand in Alfie’s, and allows himself to be led. 

“That was a nice young man,” Alfie says. “Probably an heir to some Earldom or Dukedom or whatever other fucking _dom_ there is. Money, too, I’d assume. Lots of it. Good match.”

“I didn’t come here to find a good match,” Tommy says, because he didn’t. He adds, “Even if I did, you scared him off now.” 

Alfie barks out a short laugh. It occurs to Tommy then that it’s the first time he’s heard the sound. “Oh I did, did I? Suppose you’re right. Not gonna lie, Tommy, it’s gonna be a hard feat to find the lad again, what with the masks and all, but I think I could manage it. Would you like me to try? Shall I leave you here now, mid-dance, and search everywhere for impressionable young Lord Edison? Because I would, if you asked.”

“You do know who he is, then.”  
Alfie doesn’t bother to reply; Tommy supposes there’s no need. Well, he thinks, as Alfie dips him, here goes nothing.

“I’m assuming you didn’t come here just for drinks and dancing.” 

“Well, I definitely didn’t come here for the drinks, that I can assure you in all honesty God himself has bestowed upon me.” 

“But you did come for dancing?” Tommy can’t help the sceptical note that slips into his voice. They are perfectly in sync now, moving with each other as well as with the music. 

“Thomas,” Alfie says. Tommy thinks that Alfie pronounces his name like a secret. “Let me open your eyes a little here. When this song ends, we will bow and go off like proper gentlemen, and then we will each do our own nefarious business in the shadows. And, after that is all well and done, we can blow each other in the bathroom, and never speak of this again.” 

Tommy doesn’t stumble, but it’s a near thing. One corner of Alfie’s mouth quirks up like he can read Tommy’s mind. Maybe he can. 

“We won’t speak of this?” Tommy asks, not because he really needs clarification, but because he thinks he needs it said out loud to believe it. 

“Not in our next lifetime, and certainly not in this one, I’ll give you my word.” Alfie sounds as serious as he ever does, and Tommy suddenly realises that in this moment – not tomorrow, not next week, maybe not even in an hour, but in this moment – he really means it. 

He's not an idiot; he knows this is a bad idea. Knows he’ll probably go home tonight full of regret. 

He says, “alright then.” 

The song ends, then, and so does their dance. It’s only fitting.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear what you think !


End file.
